


The Heart Wants What It Wants

by MetallicHeartache (TwistedViolets)



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Angst, Blood, Dry Sex, Hanahaki Disease, Heavy Rape/non-con, Lots of Crying, M/M, Sad things here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-16
Updated: 2020-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:08:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23176708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TwistedViolets/pseuds/MetallicHeartache
Summary: Jaskier was there for him when he coughed the first petal up. He was there for Geralt, patting his back, and praying for his safety. He was there for him...so why? Why is Geralt holding him down like this? Looking at him like this? Rubbing against him like this?Why?OrGeralt tries to brute force Hanahaki disease out of his system. All he does is break his bard.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 13
Kudos: 180





	The Heart Wants What It Wants

**Author's Note:**

> Poorly written Vent fic? Check.
> 
> It was wrote in an hour, typo checked in fifteen minutes, and felt inside my heart for a beat or two. I’ll definitely be back to check this over more intensely in the future.

The day had been setting. The sun going down, the inn becoming warm with bodies wandering in for shelter from the beating rain, and Jaskier sat beside his Witcher, satisfied that he had sung their way into a room at the inn. Geralt, of course, looked away and made a small 'huh' noise, completely disregarding all of Jaskier's hard work.

He worked hard for that room. He really did. It isn't like he enjoys singing the same old songs again and again...although they are quite catchy.

Geralt gulps down his ale and a frown is on his lips. A hand wanders to his chest and he just touches it emotionlessly. It worries him, that Geralt could have gotten hurt and never have told him.

His starring tips Geralt off and he stops his touching, only staring at him with a glare. "What?" Geralt grunts, his eyes narrowing at him accusingly.

"I wasn't sure if you were hurt or very into yourself. I never took you for a narcissistic man."

Geralt swallows down more of his ale, saying nothing.

————————————————————

The bar is close to closing, a cold draft has settled in the place and he sighs against his hand. "Aren't you ready for bed yet?" He asks Geralt, he lets his eyes rest on his fingers, the ones that clench the ale tightly.

Geralt makes some sort of noise, much of one for affirmation. He stands and Geralt follows behind, leaving a few coins on the table as he makes his way up the stairs to their room.

Geralt gets the bed, as always, and he takes the floor. It's much quieter than usual, awkward even, and as he lays on a singular fur on the floor, covered by a thin blanket, he feels like this is one of those moments they speak of.

The calm before the storm.

...

He awakens in the night to coughing. A series of harsh, dry, coughs that echo through the room. He bolts upright, looking over to the source of the sound, Geralt sitting up in bed, holding his chest, coughing into his hand.

He stands and rushes to be by Geralt's side. He pats his back, getting in closer and closer as Geralt's cough continues. 

"What's wrong? What happened? Do you need a Doctor?"

Another rough cough and a single blue petal falls from Geralt's lips, it lands on his palm and his eyes shoot open.

"Is that a flower petal? Oh my gods, Geralt, have you been cursed?"

Geralt stares at it. Really stares at it before simply dropping it on the floor and laying back down.

"I am fine...you worry too much, bard."

"You are absolutely not fine! You just coughed up a flower petal for goodness sake! What if you're growing a rose in your gut or something alike?"

Geralt makes an uninterested grunt and a small wave that says 'go to sleep.'

He lays back down in his ‘bed’, not at all confident that Geralt is okay because no one who coughs up flowers is ever okay.

————————————————————

"I'm going to see the town mage," Geralt tells him in the morning with a simple shrug of his shoulder he's gone.

He's glad Geralt is getting help. Self-care is the most important thing after all...still he wished he could come too.

He sighs and accepts it for what it is. Geralt isn't one for mushy doctor visits and besides it would probably worry him if he went. He stands and ends up in the bathroom.

He starts filling the tub, ready for a nice relaxing bath before they go back on the road again. Streams are never as clean nor relaxing as inn baths.

————————————————————

He steps out of the bathroom, towel around his body, water dripping down his skin, his hair standing up in every direction and there's Geralt, sitting on the bed, armor-less, and a deep frown on his lips. He didn't even hear him come back.

"So...what did the mage say?" He sits down beside Geralt and he tenses up beside him. As if his mere presence made Geralt flinch.

"It's an illness..."

His heart drops and presses a hand against Geralt's arm. "Is there a cure?" he whispers silently, hoping to not upset Geralt.

"Yes."

He sighs, relieved, smiling a little. "That's good. Where do we get it? How much will it cost? I'll lend you my coin if you need it."

Geralt leans on him. His shoulders slump, his head rolls onto his side, and it's so warm. He goes still as Geralt's breath tickles his skin.

"Geralt?"

Geralt's hand lands on his leg, his bare knee and it climbs up underneath his towel onto his thighs.

"Um, Geralt? Are you okay? Did they slip you something?"

Geralt leans off of him and looks deeply into his eyes before locking his lips with his own. He kisses him fiercely.

He makes noises of protest, hating the taste of alcohol on his lips, hating the roughness of his chapped lips, hating it all. He doesn't want this.

Geralt pulls away from his face but his hand travels up and clamps around his dick. He squeaks and pushes against Geralt, making many more noises that sound like a combination of no and stop.

"Geralt I know you're not feeling well but I don't- I never wanted this."

Geralt's hand is big, warm, and it starts to move. It feels sickeningly good, so good that a moan leaves his lips even though he doesn't want it to.

"Stop."

He doesn't want it. His stomach dips and twists and he pushes harder against Geralt. "Please don't do this," he bites his lip to stop another moan from leaving him.

Why does it feel so good? Why? Even though he hates it... it just won't stop.

He starts to get hard, against his will, and his cheeks all flair up red and hot. Geralt leans back in and captures his lips again but this time he forces his tongue inside.

He hates it.

He digs his nails into Geralt's chest but Geralt only pushes him down in response. He holds his hands above his head with one hand, the other hand stroking him. 

"Geralt!" 

He pants and struggles but it does nothing to deter Geralt.

"Please no more. You win, the joke is over. It isn't funny anymore."

It was never funny.

Geralt stops, and for a moment relief hits him and it's good. Then Geralt's fingers prod at his entrance, dry, big, meaty, and when one starts to enter it burns immediately.

Tears stream down his face. The pain is too much to handle.

"Please I'll do anything else. Stop it, Geralt. What's wrong with you?"

Geralt forces another finger inside and he's ripped apart. It burns as his insides protest and cramp. He cries hard into the air, cursing himself, cursing Geralt. Just wishing it was all over.

"If...if you don't stop I'll hate you."

Geralt stops, for a moment, just looking down at him, processing this, and then a sad, sad smile creeps across his lips. 

"You'd hate me even if I stopped here."

Another finger is inserted and his crying turns into sobbing. 

It only lasts a few moments but the pain is excruciating. It's uncomfortable, it burns, he's probably bleeding, and above all else, he doesn't want it.

It's filthy. Now he's filthy. He'll never be able to be loved again. Nothing will ever be normal again.

His life is ruined.

The fingers are removed and Geralt replaces them with his own erection, hot and hard against his entrance. He wipes precum around it as he nudges his head against it.

He forces himself inside. Every second is a second he's in pure pain. Every second he's trembling and sobbing and just begging for it to stop. It lasts so long, it takes so much for him not to break.

Geralt is big.

"I hate you."

Geralt pulls out and pushes back inside, his insides clench around him and it burns. 

"I wish you were dead."

Geralt begins to thrust in a rhythm, giving no care for his body or fact that he's a sobbing mess below him.

"Why? Why are you doing this?"

Geralt buries his face in his neck, kissing along his skin.

"You...you're a monster!"

Geralt stops, he freezes up for a moment and then his hips twitch and he's cumming inside of him. He barely feels it over the sudden relief of his insides, to be coated, to be wet.

"Monster," Geralt grunts, holding a hand over his own eyes to hide something. "I suppose there's truth in that now isn't there?"

No other words are said. Geralt exits him, silently, and then he lays beside him for a while. 

He just lays there, sobbing against his own arm, not even willing to touch his entrance and see if he's bleeding. He doesn't need to. He knows he is. He can smell the sudden scent of blood.

"I hate you."

He does. He's so disgusting now and it's all Geralt's fault. It is.

Geralt starts coughing, again, and for a moment everything goes away. He looks at Geralt, coughing into his hand, and his heartbreaks.

He pats his back, trembling, still so very angry and hurt but...he just can't help it.

Out from Geralt's mouth is three flower petals and Geralt frowns heavily.

"Fuck," Geralt says before looking over at him, really looking at him with a sad, sad look...maybe like he's silently saying sorry.

He doesn't move for the rest of the day and neither does Geralt. He just...just doesn't want it to be real, but each time he moves he feels Geralt's cum rush out of him and he's hit with the truth.

Geralt raped him.

He really did and he'll never forgive him for it.


End file.
